


Son of Lucifer and Mîkhā'ēl

by CrystalAzul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Dean Winchester, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 03:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15548952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalAzul/pseuds/CrystalAzul





	Son of Lucifer and Mîkhā'ēl

Deanoel has spent the last 40 hell years listening to Alistair praise his Dad. The insane bastard even believes he’s met him and holds his high praise. After yet another torture session in which he uses the acting skills he was forced to painstakingly memorise, Alistar once again makes the offer. “I’ll let your pretty ass off that rack, all you have to do is take this shiny knife right here into your hand.” “You know, I think I like it down here. It's kinda relaxing. You know aside from you torturing me everyday with your presence.” he replys honestly. “You’ll break eventually Winchester.” Alastair snarls as he plunges his knife into Deanoel’s stomach. He bellows in agony on cue. 

As soon as the demon is gone he relaxes into the rack still careful to keep his grace and wings hidden under his soul. In the distance he feels Alistar’s rage still directed at him. Apparently he thought he would have broken, again, he snickers. Like hell the son of Lucifer and Mîkhā'ēl will willingly bring on the apocalypse and become a demon's bitch. he thinks to himself. 

First off, it's practically impossible for his grace to become corrupted. (A little insurance policy from GOD after Dad’s fall.) Secondly it is the principle of the matter. He doesn't want to do work that quite frankly is beneath him and in no way benefits anyone. Sure it is fun torturing a deserving soul, but working under someone like Alistar? The bastard thinks he's his Dad’s best friend even though he's never met the guy. And finally it would signal the apocalypse. End of days. A story a high prophet wrote up for Raphael in exchange for the drugs. No fucking way is he going to be a willing pawn in that game.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He wakes up from meditation to the sound of screams, just another day in hell. He quickly checks his wings and grace, letting out a sigh of relief when he's assured their still hidden from anyone but his and GOD’s detection. He makes a mental note to groom them once he’s done with his tour of hell, they're looking a little ragged. As far as he’s concerned Hell is a lot like heaven. It's comforting being so close to his Dad’s grace after eons without it. It's not as warm as God's grace on earth but it’s still nice.

It reminds him of days in his parents office’s in heaven, back when Dad and God still lived there. He was hidden from other angels detection as he romped and played as he pleased. He lets out a small smile at the memory before Alistar and several of his minions and each of his apprentices enter the room all holding various weapons. Each one of them reeks of an Enochian tracking spell. The stench produces a small smile. Apparently he's spent enough time visiting Dad’s realm. 

“So, you finally realised I wouldn't break under your care and brought back up thinking it would help.” he pauses thinking it over. “I'm not sure if I should feel honoured or pissed about that.” 

The crowd filling the rectangular room look to him in confusion and shock as he decides his answer. Putting on a cocky grin he shrugs on the rack purposely pulling the flesh off his soul out and says “I'm going with pissed. So c'mon, what do I got in store today?” he asks spreading his arms wide uncaring about the flesh and pieces of his soul it tears out. He numbed his soul and body before Lilith’s dogs could drag him down. Besides his soul and grace regenerate themselves at dawn and dusk every day no matter where he is. It’s a wonder no one's caught on to his charade yet. His thoughts skid to a halt when he feels an unfamiliar Seraphim enter Hell. 

Deanoel gathers as much of his grace he can without the Demons in the room noticing and sends into hell’s walls. His face switches to a neutral expression of indifference as he searches through his personal link with Hell to find the renegade angel. He finds the Seraphim fighting his way through his Dad’s realm. He watches as the angel methodically kills hordes of demons before they can raise any alarm. Deanoel watches now grinning from admiration and secondhand pride as this lone Seraphim warrior fights his way into the deepest pits of hell. The Seraph has single handedly wiped out half of Hell’s population without so much as a whisper to hint of his presence by the time he enters Alistar's dungeon. 

Deanoel continues to watch practically smitten as the warrior pauses to pet Meg’s hellhound Alexis. He's still following along behind the Serph and with his family's pets as they enter the quiet corridor. He watches entertained as the Serph searches Alistair's personal quarters. Cerberus (Spot), Alexis, and Dux (Chief) perch on Alistair’s bed repeatedly looking between the two confused at the lack of commands. He uses his grace to scratch and pet (Spot)Cyberus, Alexis and (Chief) Dux as they watch the angel search through Alistair's large apartment. After two hell days he decides to lead the lost angel to him. ‘It's about time for me to get out of Hell anyway’ he thinks to himself as he reaches out with his grace and takes ahold of the lower ranking angel's wrists. 

He freezes in place as soon as his grace has grabbed ahold of the startled angels wrists. Shocked at the zing and perfection of their touching grace. Ultimately he decides to focus on the puzzle piece match their grace and soul are after they leave Hell. He drags the confused and now panicking angel towards the set of doors he knows lead to his room. He then stealthy brings his grace back into his body and rolls his eyes at Alistair who is currently giving a lecture on how to torture a soul. Poor bastard still thinks I’m a soul. Deanoel silently muses.

He looks back up from his musings as Alistair asks  
“-so what will it be Dean?”  
“I'm sorry I wasn't listening. You’ll have to repeat that.” Apparently his absent mind has irritated one of the younger apprentices because ze immediately throws a blunt blade into his sternum. He cries out in faux agony and the occupants of the room laugh and congratulate Blake until Alistar calls for the class to settle down. 

It's another three hours of Alistar using him as a fucking anatomy model of the soul (the irony is not lost on Deanoel at all) when the doors of the chamber *BANG* open and in walks hotshot angel. The Serph stops, staring wide eyed at the numerous demons sitting in desks facing him and Alistair before cocking his head and wings to the left. If anything the Demons turn back to the pretty angel just as startled and confused. Dean breaks the silence in false annoyance hoping to move things along.

“Took you long enough, I showed you where that damn door was three hours ago. What the hell took you so long?” The Seraphim ignores him and launches into smiting and fighting of the horde of demons in the makeshift classroom.  
“You've not left this rack since you've been down here Winchester.” Alistair states confused.  
Dean shrugs ripping off his left shoulder. “Hey, believe what you want to believe man.” 

He must have snapped one of Alistar’s crazy strings because he immediately begins ripping into his form again. Dean doesn't even bother screaming this time. He simply watches amused as Alistar repeatedly looks to him in confusion, assumably using more painful methods of torture. The seraphim has already killed half of the rooms occupants by the time Deanoel becomes annoyed at his own lack of participation. He commands the chains holding him in place on the rack to release him and they disintegrate gaining him room's attention and shock as well as Alistar's sudden fear. He then stands and unveils a sliver of his grace effectively smiting all the demons in the room before making his way over the dead vessels to the handsome angel.

“Took long enough for Father to notice I was MIA.” he sarcastically jokes.  
“I do not understand.” the Angel responds tilting his head and wings to the left confused.  
“You're fresh out of Sunday school aren't you?” He asks keeping his grin in place.  
“That...is a metaphor correct?” The newbie asks.  
“Yep.” Dean responds popping the P. “Means you haven't left heaven for a few decades give or take.”  
“I see, than, yes I am fresh out of Sunday school. It has been several centuries since I last left heaven.” The Seraph responds before suddenly walking up to him as close as possible without touching the core of his soul or grace. Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. Amongst angels the action is a sign of trust and deep devotion between partners and courting couples. He was looking forward to being the one to make the first move. Still he walks out of the torture chamber his potential bonded following at his heel. 

“Cerberus, Alexis, Dux, follow me.” he commands before taking lead of their group and re-opening the doors to his torture chamber.  
“Who are you?”  
“What do you mean? Didn't my Father order you to get me out?” he asks freezing mere steps outside his former room.  
“GOD commanded me to rescue someone from hell. Who are you?” the Seraph asks taking a daring step forward.  
Dean raises his eyebrows at his confidence. “I've got quite a few names.”  
The Seraph's curious look turns into a sharp glare. “List them.” he orders.  
Deanoel smirks at the younger angel’s confidence. “Alright, let's see. I'm the third Archangel to exist but the first to be born. I'm second in command to both my Father Mika’il, and my Dad Lucifer and I’m third in command to GOD.” the angel takes a surprised step back so he takes a step forward. “I was named Deanoel, but I’ve been going by Dean Alexander Winchester for the past 29 years to protect a human who is frankly one of my closest brethren. While here-” he says with a gesture to the now empty dungeon. “-I was referred to as the righteous man behind closed doors. And I have too many nicknames and aliases to bother listing.” he says rubbing his neck. Normally he wouldn't tell anyone so much information about himself, but he gives himself a break. It's been lonely down here with no one but a demon off his rocket to converse with.

He looks up and they all simultaneously go on offense as the remaining occupants of Hell begin to discover empty posts and stations. He let's the conversation go for now and remains his proximity with the Seraphim as they race each other topside following the thickening tendrils of GOD’s grace that leaks from Heaven, through the mortal plane, and into Hell. 

_______________________________________________________

Deanoel gasps, lungs taking in a gulp unnecessary air. He bolts upright in pain from the burning in his lungs only to hit his head a wooden board. *Ow* “What the hell?” he mumbles filling his palm with grace. He looks around before understanding dawns on him. While his soul and grace were in Hell, his body had been buried inside a coffin. He chuckles. It's just as well, his body can't burn, so a pyre would have set off alarm bells. He digs himself out of his grave which wow, weird thought before looking around impressed. For a mile there's nothing but spring grass and flora. 

He spins around expecting to see the Seraph hanging around waiting for him. But he’s nowhere in sight. He considers praying to him so the two can get to know each other before he realizes he never even got a name. “Looks like I'm doing this the human way.” he says putting his hands in his pockets and beginning to walk toward the abandoned gas station just outside of the one mile radiance.

_______________________________________________________


End file.
